


It Was Worth It In The End

by Tortellini



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Allies, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Character Death, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Downton Abbey Kink Meme, Friendship, Gen, Heartbreak, Heartbreaking, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Murder, Revenge, Sad, Sad Ending, Season/Series 01, Uneasy Allies, Wordcount: 500-1.000, no regrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tortellini/pseuds/Tortellini
Summary: (Season 1) It's not the first time Thomas Barrow has had his heart broken. It won't be the last either. But Miss O'Brien decides to do something about it this time. She regrets nothing.Oneshot





	It Was Worth It In The End

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/302616) by The Downton Abbey Kink Meme. 



As Thomas Barrow makes his way back down the steps and through the dining area, finally into the kitchen, he does not feel good at all. His head is spinning and he is as white as a sheet--much paler than the normally pale youth usually is.

He has just gotten back from putting the Duke to bed.

Miss O'Brien, of course, immediately notices something is wrong with her ally. She raises a thin eyebrow--more curiosity than concern--but he turns away quickly, and doesn't meet her eye.

William turns to him. "Thomas? What is it?"

He bristles. "Mind your own business, you bloody--!"

"Thomas!" Daisy cries, looking startled at the young man whom she idolized's outburst. William blinks.

Thomas is lost in his bleak mind palace at the time now. His lips burn still--at the time in pleasure, and...wanting, but now in horror--from the feeling of the Duke's on his; he can still feel the soft lush hair he caressed during the kiss. But Phillip--that was his name--he...he burned the letters. And now Thomas has not only lost his lover, but a chance to escape Downton, to be Phillip's valet, to...move up in life.

It's over. And he's drained from the whole ordeal.

"Thomas." Miss O'Brien's familiar crisp voice breaks through his daze and he looks at her. "Have a smoke with me?"

"S'pose so," he mumbles, and gets up from his slouch. He knows what she's doing, but frankly he just doesn't care, and anyway he follows her outside to the cool night air, and the familiarity of their smoking spot.

"Now," she says, as he hands her a lighted fag, and moves to light one of his own. "Gonna tell me what happened?"

"Miss--"

"I know that prissy tosser meant something to you, lad. Something's happened, I can tell. It'll--" her face suddenly changes to something akin to panic. "Is he threatening to have you arrested?!"

"No." Thomas shakes his head hard and pauses to breathe in his fag. He coughs.

"Good." She sighs and takes a drag. "It'll make you feel better, lad. And you know I won't tell."

And that was surprisingly true. It was a mistake she even found out--young Thomas had a... a history--but he was fairly certain she wouldn't tell. They were allies. Friends, even, if either one dares to go that far.

He clenches his jaw to stop it from trembling: he will not cry. He will not cry...not even in the dark now...

"Thomas," she prompts gently, and he cracks...

* * *

 

Sarah O'Brien didn't like--certainly not love--many people. And it seems that those she does care about, end terribly. She's cold and reserved and calculating...but for reasons.

Thomas Barrow reminds her of herself. She took a liking to the bitter smart young man...with eyes grey as tin and a heavy preference for chaps.

He bares his heart to her then, on the concrete and musk, waiting for the safety of the fireflies and the smell of smoke. He tells, his voice soft and husky and yes, intimate, of their desperate kisses, of their fleeting passionate (or so thought) touches--and she isn't shocked--but she listens fervently. Then he tells, in more ragged breaths and with more bloodshot eyes, of him threatening the Duke for a job, and the burning of the letters.

"I'm ruined..." He cries softly after, and Sarah is frightened a little, as well as saddened and shocked: she has never seen this tough little boy cry before. "I have no one left. No one."

Sarah grips his shoulder tightly. "You're not," she says bleakly as she lights a fag for him. "You've got me."

She sticks the cigarette between his red lips and commands him firmly to breathe in the smoke. Hiccuping, he does, and tries to stop crying. She stroked his dark hair with a thin hand, in a feeble but sincere gesture for comfort.

Finally, she stands, pulling him up too. "Get some sleep, Thomas," she says softly, a plan already forming in her head. "It'll be better in the morning."

* * *

 

The knife is a kitchen knife, so it has the fingerprints of the kitchen staff on it. Miss O'Brien wears a glove though too, and of course she is very, very careful.

She doesn't tell anyone either, for obvious reasons. But not Thomas, because...well, he might still have feelings for the wretched man. And not her Ladyship, because just imagine how that would sound: 'Your Ladyship, would you mind assisting me in the murder of the Duke of Crowborough? Why? Can't tell you, sorry.'

No.

Anyway, she manages to get up to the man's room without anyone waking up or causing a fuss. How though...she has absolutely no idea. A miracle. Ha.

She opens the door and slips inside, as quiet as death itself.

He is handsome, she thinks, watching the young man with large lips and lush hair sleep. Thomas' type: handsome, charming, and very rich. But the Duke is only handsome now, she thinks scornfully. When he's asleep. When he's not ruining himself or others. When he's silent.

"You..." She breathes. "You broke my friend's heart."

She leans over and, just like that, she slits his throat.

With a horrible gasp, his eyes open wide and he claws at his throat. Their eyes meet, a bitter grey and a desperate (dying) brown.

She smiles--she wonders if he even knows who she is (probably not), the pompous brat--and she slowly, calmly puts a finger to her lips.

Shh...

She slips out of the room. Later she washes all traces of blood out from her. There are no footprints. No wrinkles. No evidence. No nothing. Still, she keeps the blade anxiously in the back of her dresser, and tomorrow she'll get rid of it, in the morning...


End file.
